I get into the office early. The rest of the world barely even seems to have started turning. Tyler’s not in yet, that’s for sure.

As I approach my office door, eyes still half-lidded from lack of sleep, a flash of color catches my eye. There’s a gift-wrapped box sitting on top of Tyler’s desk – black, with a knotted pink ribbon. It’s strange, out of place, and yet I almost ignore it as my legs plod onward, still weighed down by exhaustion.

Thank God I don’t.

I stop and turn.

Tyler’s a by-the-book kind of guy. Even if he could, he wouldn’t receive personal items at work. I take a couple of paces over and look down, reaching for the tag peeking out from underneath the ribbon.

It’s addressed… to me.

The card tag feels expensive. It’s a thick, heavy cream card, beautifully textured. I pluck it out, and turn it over to read.

Skye, I meant what I said last night. You’re going to fix me, and I’ll repay the favor a hundred times over. I’ll keep repaying the favor until your hips buck against my face, and you’re begging me to stop. I hope you like my gift.

Oh. My. God.

Did I just read that, or are my eyes playing tricks on me?

The little note is unsigned, but I know exactly who it’s from. I snatch the box up, being careful not to drop the tag, and hurry into my office, casting anxious looks over my shoulder. My cheeks are burning with the heat of embarrassment … but maybe also a touch of desire.

The second my office door closes behind me, the phone rings. I sprint for my desk and answer it. “Hello?”

Harlan’s voice is on the other end of the line, crystal clear. “Did you get the gift I sent you, Skye?”

“No…” I say.

I don’t know why, but my brain automatically reached for a lie. I feel like I’m playing a game of cat and mouse with Harlan, only, I’m the mouse and he’s the cat. He’s playing with me as surely as a tiger might with its prey.

“Don’t lie to me, Skye,” Harlan growls down the phone. I feel stuck on the spot, thrilled by his commanding tone of voice. And then he delivers a bombshell. “I’m watching you…”

My head snaps round. “What –?” I squeak. “Where…”

Adrenaline flows through my veins. I peek around my office, half-expecting to see my boss hiding behind a stack of books, or even the therapy couch his perfectly-toned body once rested on.

“I’m not in there with you, Skye,” Harlan whispers, his voice pitched so low that I’m forced to strain to hear his delicious, tempting tones. “Look up.”

Then it hits me. My neck springs upward, and I see the slow, flashing red light on the security camera, whose slow, lazy, metronomic movement has patrolled my office for so long I’d almost forgotten it existed.

“But – ” I croak.

“But what, Skye” Harlan asks in a whisper. “I’m watching you, Skye.”

“Sessions are supposed to be private,” I say, searching desperately for something to say, even as my brain appears to have departed me. “You can’t –.”

“I don’t care about your sessions, Skye. I won’t watch them. Just you. I’m addicted to you.”

“What are you talking about?” I whisper, staring directly up at the lens of the security camera. I noticed that it has stopped moving, and is instead focused directly on me.

It’s an unsettling feeling knowing that Harlan is watching me, yet being unable to see his face. He’s watching me with those eyes – those perfect, ice-cold, searching gray eyes.

Harlan doesn’t reply.

Not directly, anyway.

“Put it on,” he says. “I want to see you wearing it.”

He can’t possibly mean…

But he does. Of course he does. He’s Harlan fucking Wolfe – Wolfe by name, killer by nature. And I’m in his sights, I’m his prey.

A shocked, electric tingle runs up my spine.

“Harlan…” I whisper. “I can’t.”

“Can’t?” My boss growls down the phone. “Or won’t? Because those are two very different things, Skye.”

My heart beats, my thoughts – both pounding away at one hundred beats a minute. It feels like a caged animal now lives inside my chest.

“Are you recording me?” I ask.

Oh my God, if I’m asking Harlan a question like that, then I must be considering it!

“Do you want me to?” Harlan asks dangerously.

We both know that he’s already won. We both know that however much I might protest, I’m going to do exactly what he tells me. I’m his already, whether I know it or not. Because what I want – what I really want in life is worth so much more than a little embarrassment …

… especially when it’s this hot.

My chest rises and falls in ragged breaths as my mind races. My career – my life – flashes before my eyes. The rational, sensible, staid side of Skye Warren begs me not to entertain this fantasy.

But that Skye’s voice’s volume level reverberates quieter and quieter.

“Turn it off,” I whisper down the phone.

Harlan pauses for a second before replying, a pause that resounds with satisfaction. “Done,” he says. “Now, I’ve carried out my end of the bargain, Skye…”

He breaks off, daring me to argue. But I can’t – I won’t. I know exactly what he wants from me.

It’s your turn.

I close my eyes. One hand holds my phone pressed against my ear, and all I can hear is Harlan’s slow, measured breathing. The sound of his breath is completely at odds with that of mine. I hear my own panting, awkward nervousness replayed through the phone’s speakers.

Harlan just waits.

My other hand traces its way up my shirt, all the way to my neck. My index finger, almost acting on its own accord, traces a lazy circle around my neck, half one way, half the other, as if Harlan’s brain is guiding it. The touch seems to come from someone else, and sends an electric thrill running down my front.

“The cameras are off, right?” I ask, my throat cracking with nervousness.

This isn’t me.

I’ve never done anything like this, not even close! When all the girls in high school were running around getting laid in the bed of their boyfriend’s pickup truck, or else getting frisky underneath the bleachers, I was studying.

I was so sure that men couldn’t do anything for me because I couldn’t come – so what was the point – I never bothered testing the limits of what my desire could make me do.

“No, Skye,” Harlan says in a soft, chiding voice. Then he pauses for a second. “But I’m not recording. I told you that. This is just between us.”

I hold onto Harlan’s voice like it’s leading me out of the darkness.

Then I do what he wants.

My fingers hover nervously over my top button, heart thundering in my chest. Suddenly, I tug one button open, pause, then the next.

Seconds later I’m standing there, cool air conditioned air kissing my soft stomach, eyes still closed, still listening to Harlan’s slow, steady breath.

“Good girl,” Harlan says.

Good girl. If any other guy had said that to me, I’d have found it creepy, but with Harlan… what a fucking turn-on!

“Now the skirt,” Harlan says mercilessly.

“No fair,” I complain, pressing my legs together as a heat ignites inside me. “Why don’t you have to do anything?”

“I did,” Harlan chuckles as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I bought you the gift, Skye. This is my reward.”

The skirt comes off easier. I tug it down an inch at a time at first, and then step out of it, standing there self-consciously in a plain set of underwear.

It’s not my finest moment. I can only hope that the security camera isn’t too high a resolution. I’m suddenly uncomfortably aware that I’m almost naked. Maybe he likes what he sees.

Yeah, right. This is Harlan’s office. He’s the kind of man who only goes for the best of the best – whether that’s restaurants, clothes, or…

… women?

“Fuck,” Harlan growls.

He layers that one word with so much excitement, so much pure, animal lust that I know it’s not faked.

“I know I’m no supermodel –,” I say with embarrassment, cheeks reddening in an instant.

“Shut up, Skye,” Harlan half-moans. “You’re fucking gorgeous, you know that? If you don’t know that, you should. You’re the sexiest woman who’s ever stepped in this office, and that’s saying something.”

Warmth sparks inside me. I know I shouldn’t feel pride about being complemented on my body, but I do. I guess it’s a natural reaction. I’ve spent so many years being embarrassed about how I look, I think it’s only right that I also get to reap the rewards?

I think so, anyway.

I glance down at the tissue-paper lined gift box, and the outrageously sexy lingerie staring back up at me. I consider what I’m doing – and what I’m about to do – and my face burns.

“Look away,” I beg.

“No way, Skye,” Harlan laughs down the phone I’m still holding pressed against my ear. “You think I’m going to miss the best of it? The climax?”

He teases that word out – torturing me. The one thing I’ve never had, the one thing I thought I could never have. He dangles it in front of me, like bait to a fish.

I hear a ping echo down the crystal-clear phone line.

“What was that?” I whisper, desperately trying to distract Harlan away from his goal of getting me to strip completely naked on camera.

I picture Harlan’s gorgeous, chiseled features as he glances at his computer screen.

I hear a low chuckle. “You had better hurry, Skye. Your assistant just got in the elevator…”